Smile
by Johnnydspiratequeen
Summary: Watson asks Holmes to be his best man; meanwhile, Holmes battles with his own feelings toward the good doctor. Inspired by the song: Smile by Charlie Chaplin, and a heartbreaking rendition by RDJ.


**Smile **

_(A/N: Inspired by the Charlie Chaplin song, Smile. Especially the one sung by Robert Downey Jr. If you haven't heard it yet, you really should.) _

It was the day Sherlock Holmes had been dreading for months, and yet it still came to him as a cold shock, even as he crumpled the invitation in his hands. He let it drop to the floor beside his armchair. It had nearly killed him to read the words in print; it somehow made it seem more official, more real, and more horribly tragic.

He had known the thing for what it was before he had opened it, and so, had put it off until now which happened to be the day before the big event. The words kept racing through his head, tormenting him; "_John Hamish Watson and Mary Anne Morstan to be joined in Holy matrimony"_. Over and over it sang through his ears, tauntingly, as he gripped at his hair in frustration and let out a soft, despairing moan. He was his Watson, HIS Watson. It disgusted him to think that he should become any sort of property of that poisonous hag that had ruined his life.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was being selfish and unfair. After all, he had never even told Watson how he felt; how passionately and desperately he loved him, _needed_ him. But now it was too late…officially too late. He had originally planned to ignore it altogether wallow in his misery alone at 221b; that was until he read the letter Watson had enclosed within the invitation:

_Dearest Holmes, _

_I know that you do not approve of Mary or this marriage, but you must know that it would mean the absolute world to me if you were to cast that aside and stand beside me as my best man. I don't mean to beg you but please, Holmes. I need you there. There shall be a tuxedo waiting for you, should you decide to grace us with your presence. _

_Sincerely, Watson _

That had undone him. Yes, he would be losing Watson, but the least he could do was be there for him; give him a lasting memory of a faithful friend instead of an empty space at his side. Those were his thoughts as he drew the makeshift tourniquet tighter around his arm and slid the cold needle under his skin.

* * *

"I believe I was promised a tux?" Holmes smirked when Watson opened the front door.

"Holmes!" his elated friend cried as he moved to usher him into the house, "I'm so glad you could make it!"

"The carriage will be here soon to carry us to the church," he prattled as he led Holmes upstairs to his room, every now and again glancing back at him like he would soon disappear.

Holmes was filled with immediate dislike of the crisply ironed tuxedo that lay on the bed like a waiting trap. Watson left him alone to dress, casting him another miraculous grin that seemed to twist Sherlock's very heart in his chest. With a bereaved sigh, he set about changing into his mourning clothes.

A knock on the door came a few moments later, "Holmes, how are you getting on in there?"

Holmes swore quietly before replying, "I can't figure out this blasted tie!"

Watson's resounding chuckle traveled through the door before he pushed it open and stepped inside. He stopped short at the sight of Holmes, dressed so dapperly and even clean-shaven.

"Here," he muttered when he regained the power of speech, "Let me do it."

Holmes drew in a shaky breath as Watson stepped closer to him, his fingers deftly working on the bowtie around his neck. He tried to ignore the unbearably close proximity of Watson's face, the determination in his clear blue eyes, and the firm set of his lovely mouth as he concentrated. The detective hadn't even noticed he had ceased to breathe until Watson stepped away from him and turned him round so he could see himself in the mirror.

Watson was beaming behind him and clapped a hand to his ex-partner's shoulder; Holmes felt his stomach swoop when he squeezed slightly.

"You look gorgeous," he declared and Holmes imagined there was sincerity in his voice.

He looked in the mirror with fake approval as he suddenly had the image of himself in a coffin, being lowered into the ground. Just then, the bell rang, disturbing his train of thought.

"That must be the carriage!" Watson announced as he left the room, Holmes reluctantly in tow. His thoughts rushed and bounced off the corners of his mind as they made the trip down the stairs and every part of him was screaming to tell him the truth and his heart was in his throat and then the door was open and it was too late yet again.

* * *

Rings. The vicar was asking for the rings, one of which Watson had given him during the ride over, explaining how he would also be playing the part of the ring bearer. Now those blue eyes were on him expectantly and so, he drew the little gold band out of his pocket and placed it in Watson's hand, along with part of his soul.

With every vow, pangs of agony pierced through his chest and before he knew it, it was: "By the power invested in me…" And he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the hot sting of tears behind his eyes. He fought them back, knowing this was the time he must be strong. He had to hide all traces of sadness, even as they were pronounced man and wife; even as he watched the love of his life seal his marriage with a kiss; even as his heart shattered and the newlyweds turned from the altar to leave and his dear, dear Boswell looked back at him over his shoulder.

And Holmes smiled.

* * *

_(A/N: R&R please ^^) _


End file.
